Age Fifteen

Fifteen is the number that conceals God's name, and is the mysterious turning point for three generations of one family.

Most Jewish teenagers growing up in Australia during the 1960s were, like me, children of concentration camp survivors. Our parents were involved in owning small businesses or were employed. There was hardly a professional among them. At birth, we lacked even a single grandparent in most cases, and almost all of us were named after family members who perished at the hands of the Nazis.

It was clear that we were "everything" to our parents, and no one needed to tell us why. Top of their priorities list was ensuring that we gained the best possible education. Little wonder that several of the largest and most successful Jewish schools in the world were started in Melbourne in the years right after World War II. And the community's interest in things Israeli was unlimited -- the occasional Israeli film and Israeli visitor to Australia's distant shores were memorable events.

The rising tension leading up to the Six Day War left an indelible mark on me.

The Six Day War happened when I was 15. The weeks of rising tension leading up to it left an indelible mark on me: the grainy television images of Egyptian and Syrian troops on the march; Nasser's strident speeches and unilateral blockade of the sea lanes to Eilat; the massing of Egyptian forces on Israel's Sinai border and of the Syrians on the Golan frontier; U Thant's disgraceful capitulation in removing UN peace-keeping forces from Sinai precisely when they were most needed. And the blood-curdling threats of one after another of the Arab dictators and monarchs: "The existence of Israel is an error which must be rectified... This is our opportunity to erase the ignominy which has been with us since 1948... Our goal is clear -- to wipe Israel off the map."

Holocaust Horrors

Fifteen marked a turning point in my life. A few months after Israel's stunning defeat of the forces bent (once again) on the liquidation of the Jews, I enrolled for the first time in a Jewish day-school. My ideas about being a Jew in the world, about history and how it affects our lives, about the Holocaust and the chain of Jewish life, began taking grown-up shape.

Malki Roth and her grandmother

My mother grew up near Lodz in a town located close enough to the Polish/German frontier to have been overrun by Nazi forces on the first day of the war. Among the men rounded up by the invaders on that September day was her father, the grandfather whose name I was given. As a father myself, I have to breathe deeply in calling to mind the image of my mother throwing herself at the feet of a German soldier, begging, screaming for her father's life to be spared.

On the day the Nazis marched into Poland and began the process of destroying a world, trampling a unique culture into the mud, murdering Jews by the millions, my mother had just turned 15.

My awareness of my parents' lives begins, in a certain sense, with the end of the war: their four or five years as displaced persons in post-war Germany, their long journey to Australia as a young couple with no English, no marketable skills and no roots beyond their few personal ties and their very Jewish sense of community.

An unexpected photograph changed this for me a few years ago.

I have a cousin, a kibbutznik, the daughter of my father's oldest brother. She was brought to Tel Aviv in the 1930s as a baby by her parents who fled pre-war Galicia, and has lived her life in Israel. Returning as a tourist to her roots, she traveled to Krakow in 2000, and via a chain of circumstances ended up in possession of four photocopied pages which she shared with me. These were Nazi documents -- census forms which the Germans required the Jews in the Krakow ghetto to complete prior to dispatching them to the death camps.

The first page had been completed in the distinctive handwriting of my father, of blessed memory. A small snapshot attached to the form showed him as I had never seen before: virile, handsome, young. Two other pages were the census forms of two of my father's sisters. Their names were known to me from a family tree I had put together years earlier with my father's help, but until that moment they were nothing more than names. Now I gazed at the portraits of two vibrant young women.

My oldest daughter, Malki, had just completed a family-roots project at school and I knew she would be interested. A glance at the pages and she said exactly what I had been thinking: Malki bore a striking resemblance to my father's beautiful sister Feige.

Feige (left) and Malki

Unlike my parents, Feige did not survive the Nazi murder machine. Whatever promise her life contained, whatever talents she was developing, whatever gifts she was planning to give the world -- all these were overturned by a massive act of violent, barbaric hatred.

Some months after we gazed on those extraordinary pictures for the first time, Malki sat down and quietly (without telling us) composed the words and music of an infectiously upbeat song: "You live, breathe and move - that's a great start!... You'd better start dancing now!"

Living in the land promised to the Jewish people was a source of deep contentment to this granddaughter of Holocaust survivors. The discovery of Feige's picture enabled Malki, I think, to gain a strengthened sense of her personal role as a link in an ancient chain.

Unbearable Questions

Arafat's intifada war against Israel's civilian population broke out around the time we received those precious pages. From the diary she kept, it's evident that the near-daily toll of injuries and deaths weighed heavily on Malki's mind. She writes of having to leave her classroom to weep in privacy upon learning of another terror attack… and another and another. We, her parents and siblings, were unaware of the depth of her empathy for the victims of the war raging in her precious land. The turmoil and pain, to Malki, were deeply personal. Though born in Australia, she had lived in Jerusalem since age two. She felt deeply connected to Jewish history.

In August 2001, my daughter and her friend Michal interrupted the activities of a busy summer vacation day to grab lunch in a crowded Jerusalem restaurant, Sbarro.

If she had noticed the man with a guitar case on his back striding through the unguarded door and positioning himself next to the counter where she was engrossed in tapping out a text message on her cell phone, would Malki have recognized the hatred, the barbaric ecstasy, on his face before he exploded?

Michal and her friend were buried side by side, forever, on a hill in Jerusalem.

Malki and Michal were buried the next day. The closest of friends since early childhood, they lie side by side, forever, on a hill near the entrance to Jerusalem.

Malki was 15.

Her diary is full of questions: How can such terrible things happen to our people? Why is our love for the Land of Israel not better understood by outsiders? What kind of Divine plan calls for teenagers to be injured and killed by people for whom we hold no hatred at all? How can such intense hatred even exist?

The unbearable question marks left behind by my daughter scream at me every day.

The Hidden Name

Jewish life, viewed from a distance, is an astonishing saga of tragedy, achievement, grandeur, destruction and greatness, played out over millennia. There is a risk we lose this perspective when we are the individuals living it.

At Purim, we feast, we drink, we ceremoniously deliver gifts, we celebrate with those we love and like. But the narrative at the heart of this festival is of a close brush with tragedy: the Jewish victory over a genocidal conspiracy by murderous Jew-haters.

Here in Jerusalem, a day later than almost everywhere else in the world, Purim is marked on the 15th day of Adar. Jewish calendar dates are written using a simple alphanumeric code: alef is one, bet is two and so on. But longstanding tradition is to avoid the straightforward way of writing the number 15. You would expect it to be yud-heh (lit: ten-five); however these two letters happen to form the first half of God's name and are accorded special treatment and respect.

Accordingly, 15 is written as tet-vav: nine-six. God's Name, as it were, is hidden within the number 15.

Arnold Roth and his
daughter Malki

Purim is odd in another way: the name of God is completely absent from Megillat Esther. Does this mean the victory of the Jews over their oppressor happened without His involvement? Jewish tradition answers with a firm 'no'. God's role was crucial, but our ability to make sense of how and why He acts is limited, inadequate.

Those of us raised in the shadow of the Holocaust, and who have experienced the tragedy of a child's death by hatred, struggle to understand the nature of the Divine role in our lives as individuals and as a people. There are times, according to Jewish wisdom, when you need to know that God's hand is at work even when the evidence is difficult to see, even when there are more questions than answers.

[Malki Roth's memory is honored by the Malki Foundation that supports families wanting to provide their severely disabled child with quality home care. More information at www.kerenmalki.org]

About the Author

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 18

(18)
Shira Levin,
August 17, 2005 12:00 AM

Blind hatred towards our people.

I feel intense pain because of our peoples' evacuation from our land knowing our enemies celebrate. Hate
knows no bounds. It is a form of insanity that is demonic in origin.

(17)
Anonymous,
April 8, 2005 12:00 AM

i think this was a sad artical.

I can't understand what us jews have done to deserve such a cruel puinishment for something that we didn't start off. Learning about the holocaust has made my faith stronger.

(16)
ann,
April 5, 2005 12:00 AM

God Bless

I would like to ask the Roths to please publish Malki's diary,I would love to read it and advise all my Jewish and non Jewish friends to read it as well.She sounds like such a sweet,compassionate young girl and I think her words would deeply touch anyone with a heart or conscience.And could influence this world only for good.

(15)
Merlock,
April 3, 2005 12:00 AM

Thank You

Thanks for the interesting and personal story, and God bless.

(14)
chana Sharfstein,
April 1, 2005 12:00 AM

Moving, Inspiring slice of life

Your story about Malkie touched me deeply. In providing the background information , in particular the resemblance of Malkie to her Great- Aunt Faygie, was very special. I cried about the untimely loss of this sensitive and wonderful young woman. may hashem continue to give you strength and may her short young life be a continous inspiration for us all. Hope your project of raising funds for challenged Jewish chidren will meet with much success.

(13)
Rivky Berger,
March 24, 2005 12:00 AM

I normally don't write comments to the Aish articles I read, I can't imagine why anyone would want to read my peanut gallery statements on any topic. I am writing here because I am assuming Arnold Roth and Malki's entire family will be reading these comments. When I came to the point in the article that stated, "Malki sat down and quietly (without telling us) composed the words and music of an infectiously upbeat song: "You live, breathe and move - that's a great start!... You'd better start dancing now!" My heart jumped into my mouth.

Malki's song, sung by Yehuda, on Voices for Israel has had an incredible effect on me and my life, as well as all of those around me. You see my father has multiple sclerosis, a degenerative disease that at this point has made him quadriplegic and confined to a bed.

My mother is very good about it and the positive atmosphere in my home is proof of that. Still it gets very tuff; I only have a few nice memories of my father. Most of what I remember is his being sick and my mother, my siblings and me taking care of him. It used to kill me, not always but every once in a while I couldn't take it anymore... I'm very attached to music so when I'd feel like that I would always try to find a song to comfort me. I never did.

That is until I bought Voices for Israel on a whim last year. Malki wrote about appreciating the constant and seemingly small things in life, how they are enough of a reason to be happy. That was exactly what I needed to hear, and continue to need to hear. I’m all of 20 years old and I and my family have been a lot, but as Malki sang, I’m breathing, I can move, and I have a promised place in the world to come. It really is enough of a reason to dance and sing!

As your article says about Faigy, you probably think that Malki's life was snuffed out before she could contribute to the world; I want to tell you that it is not true. Malki's song has affected me so much; she has brought so much simcha to me, my family and even my father. I am certain hundreds or even thousands of others have been affected as I have been and I just thought you, her family should know. Malki, in her 15 short years of life has built the world in a way that most people who live well into their 90's never do!

(12)
Anonymous,
March 23, 2005 12:00 AM

My daughter benefits greatly from the Keren Malki Foundation. The Foundation lends us equipment to enable her to be mobile in and around our home. Although I had been in brief contact with Malki's parents, I was deeply moved to read the background of her family's life and again send them my sincere condolences on their indescribable loss and my endless appreciation for what they are doing in their dear daughter's memory.

(11)
anna aizic,
March 23, 2005 12:00 AM

Malki's zal"

I start readning the article about the age !5,unsespected to sobber in tears for Malki,at the end.As a jew,as mother to small kids myself,as human-my heart goes to you and your family.Thank you for sharing with me your story and hope your Malki is in better place by now,her soul with Freidi and all her loving family from the past.

(10)
Eliane TAIEB,
March 23, 2005 12:00 AM

Dear Sirs,

I am 55 1/2 years old, was born in Tunisia where my father was taken to the Concentration Camps of Orienburg and Buchenwald, and I live in France since 1956.

I have read this article with much emotion from the first to the last word. I could not refrain the tears to come up my eyes because the sufferance of a Jew is already touching me deaply.

Among big Joys, we as Jewish have always to suffer hard thing also. I have been grown up with always a big compassion feeling for any thing which happens to the Jewish People as Individual or group. My mother never talked to me about the fact that my father was in a camp (I believe that at this time for the Jews of Tunisia, who were not able to understand why someone could make them such hard sufference, it was hard to believe that those german soldiers were the messengers of Death) ; they probably did not know really what happened in Europ.

And thanks G.d the American and English soldiers arrived in Tunisia to liberate the Jewish Community from this danger. But a few were killed or deported to Germany. But where the Allies arrived, they found a camp was almost ready to exterminate the small Jewish Community there, who was in this country since the Phenicians times and the destruction of the First Temple.

For the Arabs we were "Dhimmis" which means "tolerated subjects" and it happens very regularly to handle and live tough & hysterial hatred situation but they never face an organized extermination plan as the Nazis programm;

Since my childhood when I discovered the Holocaust, every day of my life, I thing of all those brothers and sisters which have been exterminated. When I eat, I always thing how they died of hunger, and when it's cold and I wear hot clothers, I always thing how much they suffer especially in Camps with a simple "zebra uniform" on the body when temperature is - 20°.

This will probably end when I leave this world. My body if full of tears for them and my heart deaply afflicted since almost always as far as I understand.

When we leave this world we have no more occasion to help each other in our Community so we do not have to forget that our life on the earth has a sens and a goal and that whatever we possess, this is only for a special work we have to do for our land and our brothers and sisters.

HAPPY PURIM TO ALL
Eliane TAIEB

(9)
gail chollet,
March 22, 2005 12:00 AM

very moving and informative

I am only now finding out about my heritage. Stories like this break my heart and fill it with gladness for the strength it contains.

(8)
Jim Courter,
March 22, 2005 12:00 AM

Anne Frank also 15

I recently read Anne Frank's diary and immediately thought about the fact that she was also 15 when she died.

(7)
Menashe Kaltmann,
March 21, 2005 12:00 AM

As someone who is from Melbourne

Thank you aish.com and Arnold for publihing this article.

As someone who has the priviledge of knowing Arnold from his days living in Melbourne, I must echo the sentiment that one can only imagine the anguish he must feel at his Malki's OBM loss. It really is tremendously as Stan mentions uplifting to read such a beautiful tribute that also provides an understanding of what it means to Jewish. Arnold and his family should be blessed with only good tidings!

(6)
Tammy Berman,
March 21, 2005 12:00 AM

I wear a bracelet with the name of Malka Roth

I sit here in tears and goose bumps. Not only have I worn this bracelet for over 2 years, I have also been to Yad Sarah and have been in the 'youth' room that bares your daughter's name. You are a very brave man. Your courage gives me strenth. I wear this braclet with such pride. Many people have known your daughter through me wearing her name.

(5)
Aura Slovin,
March 21, 2005 12:00 AM

My heart is with you and your family.....

You have written a touchingly beautiful tribute to your daughter's (OBM) memory. The weaving of the events in your families history that include the importance of the number "15" is also amazing and insightful.

As a Nurse who has worked almost exclusively with children - it is the hardest most heartbreaking issue when parents loose a child in their lifetime. No one other than someone who shared this tragedy can possibly understand. I wish you, your wife and family Menuchos Hanefesh in recovering from this loss - I would like more information on the foundation you started in Malki's memory. May she beseech Hashem in Heaven to bring Moshiach Tzidkeinu speedily in our day and with his coming T'Chios Hameitim - where we will be re-united with all our loved ones. May this happen soon!

(4)
Toby Klein Greenwald,
March 21, 2005 12:00 AM

Very deeply moving and thought-provoking

I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to read this deeply moving personal story and wish Malki's family only joy for the rest of their lives.

(3)
Stan Beer,
March 20, 2005 12:00 AM

An uplifting and beautiful tribute

As a father and a contemporary of Arnold, one can only imagine the anguish he must feel at his family's tragic loss. However, it is tremendously uplifting to read such a beautiful tribute that also provides an understanding of what it means to Jewish.

(2)
Anonymous,
March 20, 2005 12:00 AM

Nice to find out more about the wonderful person who composed the beautiful song

Malki's song (Shir Lismoach) is one of my favorite songs. I liked it the first time I heard it. Then I read the background of who composed the song and appreciated it even more. Now I get to find out more about Malki and her remarkable family. Thank you for sharing your story with us - may Hashem grant you and your family many years of good health and happiness.

(1)
Laura,
March 20, 2005 12:00 AM

Beautifully tragic.

Your daughter's wondering "killed by people for whom we hold no hatred at all" is what bothers the world. They don't understand a war where the hate is all one-sided. Shalom to you and your dear family.

This year during Chanukah I will be on a wilderness survival trip, and it will be very difficult to properly celebrate the holiday. I certainty won't be able to bring along a Menorah.

So if I am going to celebrate only one day of Chanukah, which is the most significant?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

If a person can only celebrate one day of Chanukah, he should celebrate the first day.

This is similar to a case where a person is in prison, and the authorities agree to permit him to go to synagogue one day. The law is that he should go at the first opportunity, and not wait for a more important day like the High Holidays.

The reason is because one should not allow the opportunity of a mitzvah to pass. Moreover, it is quite conceivable that circumstances will later change and allow for additional observance. Therefore, we do not let the first chance pass. (Sources: Code of Jewish Law OC 90, Mishnah Berurah 28.)

As an important aside, Chanukah candles must be lit in (or at the entrance to) a home rather than out of doors. Thus, you should not light in actual "wilderness," but only after you've pitched your tent for the night.

There may be another reason why the first night is the one to focus on. Chanukah is celebrated for eight days to commemorate the one-day supply of oil that miraculously burned for eight days. But if you think about it, since there was enough oil to burn naturally for one night, nothing miraculous happened on that first night! So why shouldn't Chanukah be just seven days?!

There are many wonderful answers given to this question, highlighting the special aspect of the first day. Here are a few:

1) True, the miracle of the oil did not begin until the second day, and lasted for only seven days. But the Sages designated the first day of Chanukah in commemoration of the miraculous military victory.

2) Having returned to the Temple and found it in shambles, the Jews had no logical reason to think they would find any pure oil. The fact that the Maccabees didn't give up hope, and then actually found any pure oil at all, is in itself a miracle.

3) The Sages chose Chanukah, a festival that revolves around oil's ability to burn, as the time to teach the fundamental truth that even so-called "natural" events take place only because God wants them to.

The Talmudic Sage Rabbi Chanina Ben Dosa expressed this truth in explaining a miracle that occurred in his own home. Once, his daughter realized that she had lit the Shabbos candles with vinegar instead of oil. Rabbi Chanina calmed her, saying, "Why are you concerned! The One Who commanded oil to burn, can also command vinegar to burn!" The Talmud goes on to say that those Shabbos lights burned bright for many hours (Taanit 25a).

To drive this truth home, the Sages decreed that Chanukah be observed for eight days: The last seven to commemorate the miracle of the Menorah, and the first to remind us that even the “normal” burning of oil is only in obedience to God's wish.

In closing, I'm not sure what's stopping you from celebrating more than one day? At a minimum, you can light one candle sometime during the evening, and that fulfills the mitzvah of Chanukah - no “official Menorah” necessary. With so much joy to be had, why limit yourself to one night only?!

In 165 BCE, the Maccabees defeated the Greek army and rededicated the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Finding only one jar of pure oil, they lit the Menorah, which miraculously burned for eight days. Also on this day -- 1,100 years earlier -- Moses and the Jewish people completed construction of the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that accompanied them during 40 years of wandering in the desert. The Tabernacle was not dedicated, however, for another three months; tradition says that the day of Kislev 25 was then "compensated" centuries later -- when the miracle of Chanukah occurred and the Temple was rededicated. Today, Jews around the world light a Chanukah menorah, to commemorate the miracle of the oil, and its message that continues to illuminate our lives today.

A person who utilizes suffering to arouse himself in spiritual matters will find consolation. He will recognize that even though the suffering was difficult for him, it nevertheless helped him for eternity.

When you see yourself growing spiritually through your suffering, you will even be able to feel joy because of that suffering.

They established these eight days of Chanukah to give thanks and praise to Your great Name(Siddur).

Jewish history is replete with miracles that transcend the miracle of the Menorah. Why is the latter so prominently celebrated while the others are relegated to relative obscurity?

Perhaps the reason is that most other miracles were Divinely initiated; i.e. God intervened to suspend the laws of nature in order to save His people from calamity.

The miracle of the Menorah was something different. Having defeated the Seleucid Greek invaders, the triumphant Jews entered the Sanctuary. There they found that they could light the Menorah for only one day, due to a lack of undefiled oil. Further, they had no chance of replenishing the supply for eight days. They did light the Menorah anyway, reasoning that it was best to do what was within their ability to do and to postpone worrying about the next day until such worry was appropriate. This decision elicited a Divine response and the Menorah stayed lit for that day and for seven more.

This miracle was thus initiated by the Jews themselves, and the incident was set down as a teaching for all future generations: concentrate your efforts on what you can do, and do it! Leave the rest to God.

While even our best and most sincere efforts do not necessarily bring about miracles, the teaching is nevertheless valid. Even the likelihood of failure in the future should not discourage us from any constructive action that we can take now.

Today I shall...

focus my attention on what it is that I can do now, and do it to the best of my ability.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...